Slow Fade
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: An encounter teaches Castiel, Dean, and Sam a little something about grace.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Slow Fade

Summary: An encounter teaches Castiel, Dean, and Sam a little something about grace.

A/N: This fic is still dealing with the fallout this season, tentatively set after Sex and Violence. The boys are broken at this point, each doing stupid things in an attempt to help one another. As I'm a Sam girl, this fic probably pushes an especially sympathetic view of Sam. To me, since the show won't do it, I sort of feel compelled to connect the dots as I see them laid out. If you're of the mind that Sam's completely selfish and in the wrong and that Dean hasn't done anything wrong, I will just say this fic isn't for you. I tried not to be biased, but I make no promises. This is a two-parter, by the way.

A/N 2: This fic deals with the angels. Which, is weird. They're not my favorite development on the show but since they're not going anywhere it seems, I figured I had to try to use them at some point.

A/N 3: Beta'ed by geminigrl11. Plot aided by sendintheclowns. A last minute read over done by the best lurker in the world :)

Disclaimer: I wouldn't take them if you offered.

-o-

_It's a slow fade when you give yourself away_

_It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray_

_Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid_

_When you give yourself away_

_People never crumble in a day_

_It's a slow fade, it's a slow fade_

-Slow Fade by Casting Crowns

-o-

PART ONE

It started with three doughnuts.

Many days started with doughnuts, even though that wasn't Sam's breakfast of choice. But doughnuts were always in the repertoire of morning foods because they were crappy and cheap and easy, and when it came to foods, cheap and easy were sort of a necessity, and the crappy inevitably went along with it.

So, doughnuts weren't really that unusual.

The fact that Dean had gotten up before him, gone out and come back before Sam even had a chance to stop dreaming--well, that was a bit weirder.

Not that Dean was much of a sleeper these days. That was one of those things they didn't talk about, like Ruby or Sam's time alone or Dean's drinking or the fact that there were freakin' angels with plans for Dean, but Sam was aware all the same. But Dean liked to pretend to sleep, liked to lay on his bed and stare at the ceiling or turn the TV on mute in the middle of the night when Sam was supposed be snoring. It was all part of Dean's brave face, which he used to contrast the roadside confessions that were becoming far too common for them.

And ever since the siren, that game face had been on stronger than ever. Dean was forceful about it now. Bossing Sam around, asserting his dominance.

Sam got it. He did. Because he remembered what he said. He remembered saying Dean was weak and Dean was holding him back.

The fact that Sam had tried to apologize--multiple times--clearly had only made it another one of those things on the list of topics they just wouldn't broach.

Which was okay with Sam. He wasn't ready to deal with it either. After all, it wasn't like Dean's accusations had been much of a picnic.

_I don't know when it happened. Maybe when I was in Hell. Maybe when I was staring right at you. But the Sam I knew is gone...it's not the demon blood or the psychic crap. It's the little stuff. The lies, the secrets..._

Dean was right, of course, which is why Sam knew that Dean didn't believe Sam's _I didn't mean it_. Problem was, honesty was a funny thing, and truth was awfully relative and dependent on the context. Because, okay, Dean _was _weak. Forty years in hell would make anyone weak. And Dean _was _holding him back. Holding Sam back from trying to help Dean, help them both, help _end this_. If Dean could only see the torture, if Dean could only see the sad and bloody inevitability of them dying young and fruitlessly, then it was about damn time somebody fixed that. Angels may have pulled Dean out, but they sure as hell weren't doing much to help Dean get over it.

And _boo-hoo Dean_? Just the fact that Dean was dwelling, Dean was letting Hell have power over him. It was another reason Sam had to do what he had to do. Why Ruby was a necessary evil. Why the powers were the necessary evil. Why cutting the head off this snake was _worth_ it, no matter what Dean said.

It seemed like there should be a way to say that, a way to explain it, but Sam couldn't figure it out. Not without making it worse. Not without forcing Dean on issues that Dean wasn't ready to deal with. Not without revealing too much of Sam's own endgame.

Which was why Sam knew Dean was telling the truth under the siren's spell. The old Sam? Long gone. He had to be. The old Sam Winchester had failed everyone. The old Sam Winchester had failed his girlfriend, his father. He'd watched person after person die. The old Sam Winchester had had a _year_, a whole damned _year_, and had ended up watching his brother get ripped apart in front of him.

The old Sam Winchester had gotten his brother sent to Hell. That Sam had been responsible for _everything_.

So, that Sam had to be gone. If this new Sam was going to make anything right, little Sammy who was scared of the the thing in the closet, Sammy who starred in plays, Sam the law student, Sam the reluctant hunter--they all had to be gone.

He didn't expect Dean to get that, but having him resent it so much didn't exactly make things easier. Then again, Sam was pretty sure he didn't deserve anything easy.

Still, Winchesters were masters at the art of denial, and Sam had counted on his makeshift apology to get them through at least the next couple of months.

Three doughnuts later, though, Sam was pretty sure he'd have to rethink that one.

Sam had still been mostly asleep when Dean barged back in. Through half-slitted eyes, Sam watched his brother stroll into the room, sprawl lazily in the chair and uncrinkle the bag in front of him.

The first doughnut was a bear claw and Sam rolled over to bury his face in his pillow. Apparently, today wasn't the day to sleep in.

Dean was munching loudly, which really shouldn't have been so surprising, but it seemed louder today.

When Dean started smacking his lips as he sucked off the extra icing from his fingers, Sam looked up and glared. "Dude, really?" he asked.

Dean feigned innocence. "What, am I bothering you?"

"Well, I was trying to sleep," Sam pointed out, pushing himself to a seated position.

"So, you're allowed to sneak around and make secret phone calls to your little demonic girlfriend whenever you want, but I'm not even allowed to eat doughnuts in my own motel room?"

The brotherly humor drained from Sam's face. "What are you talking about?" he asked, even though he knew exactly what Dean was talking about.

Dean scoffed, pulling out the second doughnut. "You think I can't hear you talking to her in the morning? That I don't notice when you sneak out to talk to her at night? Or that I don't hear the sound of you driving off with her when you think I'm dreaming?"

Sam's throat tightened. He had hoped it was true. For both of their sakes.

Dean just shrugged. "I figured if I was going to keep an eye on your lying ass, I would just have to beat you to it. I heard you last night, you know. Making plans. What's going on in Fort Wayne?"

Sam's face flushed. "You're eavesdropping on me?"

"And you're lying to me," Dean said, taking a big bite. "I'm trying to make sure you don't get yourself killed. What's your excuse for being a prick?"

The same, really. Protecting Dean. Making it end.

But lying to Dean about everything--it wasn't working. Sam couldn't keep his brother in the dark about all of it, that much was clear. Some secrets he would keep. Others, he would give up sparingly.

Sam swallowed, slowly and deliberately. "Ruby has a lead on a demon who has worked with Lilith," he said. "She thinks it's shacking up in For Wayne."

"And you believe her?" Dean asked, through a mouthful of jelly.

"She hasn't lied to me about that."

Dean snorted. "Just about everything else."

"You don't know--"

"No, but I know she's a demon," Dean said, and there was an edge to his voice. "I know she's a demon and I know that I met a lot of demons in hell. I know about what makes a demon. Forty years and there wasn't much left of me. A few hundred? If there was anything good in her to begin with, it's long gone now. So, I just have been trying to figure out when I started coming in second to a demon, especially when you know what they've done to us. Done to you. Done to _me_."

Sam felt both hot and cold and he was pretty sure he was shaking. Dean was right, of course, about demons and what demons had done to them. But Dean couldn't know, didn't know that Sam couldn't see in shades of black and white anymore. That everything had to be shades of gray. Because, if it wasn't, then Sam was just as condemned as any other demon in the depths of Hell.

And it wasn't about Sam, no matter what Dean thought. Sam had given up his dreams of normal, his dreams of happy years ago. All he wanted, the only thing left worth fighting for, was the end. Saving Dean. The rest of the world would just be icing on the cake.

Dean was licking the jelly off his fingers as Sam threw the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Tiredly, Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, wishing there was an apology he could give to make this better.

"Look, we've always used whatever means we've had to get the job done," Sam said. "That's all this is. I promise."

Dean just raised his eyebrows. "Like you promised me you wouldn't use your powers?"

It was a gut punch. Sam's failure was pervasive and encompassing. It defined him. How he had failed his father, Jess. Now Dean.

Dean shrugged. "I'm not asking you for anything at this point," Dean told him. "I just want you to know that you have to do it to my face now. All of it. The lies, the sneaking off. We both know now more than ever that I can still kick your ass, and I will if I have to."

It was a bittersweet truth. That his brother was still looking out for him, that his brother was still there on some level, playing the protective big brother Sam had always wanted.

But the lack of trust--not just to be honest, which Sam couldn't blame him for, but to be _good_. That his brother never expected that Sam could keep himself from turning, from becoming something evil. That Sam wasn't capable of it. Sam was always an object, something to be saved. He was tired of being a pawn in everyone else's games. He was tired of having no say in his own damnation and salvation. He wanted to make the choices, even if they were going to take him straight to Hell.

Yet, if he were honest, he knew there was no point. He was already headed straight to Hell. Demon blood since he was six months old--he'd never had a chance.

"Fine," Sam said, his voice tight. "I've checked out the signs, and there's definitely something demonic going on there."

"I didn't say I was going with you," Dean said. "And I didn't say I'd let you go."

That chafed, and Sam felt like he was sixteen again, wanting to know all the reasons why and getting nothing but a cold order to fall in line.

Dean took a swig of coffee. "I got a lead on a case up in Rapid City," he said. "We're leaving in ten minutes."

Maybe it shouldn't have surprised him, but the curtness of Dean's tone, the no-nonsense, do-as-I-say assumption, was hard to swallow. Sam wasn't Dean's subordinate, he wasn't a soldier. He was Dean's brother and he knew how to hold his own.

Still. He'd seen the look on Dean's face after the siren. He'd seen the guarded hurt after Sam's attempt at an apology. Sam's endgame didn't have to mean alienating his brother.

He sighed. "Fine," he said. "What kind of doughnut did you get me?"

Dean just raised his eyebrows and pulled the last doughnut out of the bag. "What makes you think I got you anything?" he asked, taking a deliberate bite.

Something in Sam's chest clenched and he felt an inexplicable burn of tears behind his eyes.

"Fine," he ground out again. He stood stiffly. "I'm taking a shower."

"Ten minutes," Dean called after him. "Or I will come in after you and drag your naked ass to the car."

Sam didn't say anything, didn't even blink until he was safely behind the closed bathroom door.

Maybe he deserved it. For his lies. For his failures. Dean didn't have any good reason to trust him, did he? Just because Sam was doing this for Dean didn't mean that Dean wouldn't see it as anything but betrayal.

And maybe Sam had betrayed Dean. Maybe he was too far gone. Maybe the powers, Ruby, maybe all of it was a mistake. One big mistake.

But what else could he do? How else was he supposed to save Dean? How else was he supposed to erase that fear that Dean carried inside? How else was he supposed to help Dean forget everything that had happened in Hell? How else could he make sure that no one could send Dean back there--ever?

He could get rid of Lilith. He _could_. He had to. No matter what cost, that was the one thing he had left. The one chance he had to succeed. He'd watched too many people die, too many people get hurt because of him.

It couldn't just be sad and bloody for Dean. It couldn't just be memories of Hell and the lonely road. It had to be peace and happiness. The Grand Canyon. A wife and kids. Sam didn't deserve those things, but Dean did.

So, why did it hurt? Dean was trying to protect him, at least. There was something to that, wasn't there? Something like the way things used to be?

But before Dean had always done it with a light heart. Cajoling and levity, assurance and promises. It had been based on love before.

Now, Dean seemed to be doing it out of duty. Because there was still that promise to his dad, that threat from the angels, and Dean was issuing orders and eating three doughnuts for himself and Sam couldn't resent any of it at all.

It was another failure.

Looking up, Sam met his own tired eyes in the mirror. Then he gasped.

Behind him, someone was behind him.

He spun, mouth open, and before he had a chance to yell, the figure shook his head.

A gentle touch to his forehead and the world was fading, fast and heavy, and he barely felt the touch of hands as Castiel neatly caught him before everything blurred into white.

-o-

So, maybe the three doughnuts had been a little much.

Dean liked to eat, but seriously, that much sugary goodness was making him feel a little edgy and it wasn't even eight AM.

Still, it was part of the plan. To make Sam get it. Finally.

He'd decided that this morning was it. He wasn't going to take crap from this kid. He'd sat around and played nice while Sam snuck off for his dark deeds long enough and Dean was _tired _of it.

There had been a certain amount of satisfaction in that, because it was downright justified. Sam had another think coming, to call Dean weak and afraid, to _mock Hell_ when Dean had probably saved Sam from there the first go around.

So, no more Mr. Nice Guy. He wasn't Sam's doormat, and if the little bitch wanted to lie, he would just have to know that Dean was wise to it.

And that it wouldn't get him any perks. If Dean was holding Sam back, then certainly the kid didn't need someone like Dean to pick up doughnuts for him.

He'd expected Sam to piss and moan and sulk the entire day, but Dean had downed all three doughnuts and Sam didn't even have the shower running.

What kind of sulking was the kid giving into this time?

Annoyed, Dean stood, moving to the door. "Dude, I said ten minutes, and I meant ten minutes."

He waited for the petulant reply, maybe the childish retort back.

Nothing.

He knocked this time. "Seriously, Sammy, I'm not screwing with you."

Nothing.

Dean's chest tightened. Something was off. Sam was pissy, sure, but what did he think would happen by ignoring Dean this way?

"You don't answer me, I'm coming in," Dean threatened. "And I don't even care if you have time to cover yourself."

When there was no response again, Dean swore and tried the handle.

It was unlocked.

Cautiously, he pushed it open. The lights were on and the fan was running. Sam's toiletry bag was on the counter.

But Sam wasn't there.

Dean stepped in, throwing back the shower curtain, as if he expected his massive little brother to be hiding behind it.

Nothing.

He looked around, checking the vents. They were all screwed tightly into place and were far too small for anyone to fit through, anyway, much less a massive freak like Sam. The door had been unlocked, but Dean would have seen him go. He couldn't have missed him.

So, where the hell was his little brother?

His heart hammered in his chest, pounding with fear and anger. Sam had left, found some way to sneak off and leave Dean behind just like Dean suspected Sam had wanted.

Or Sam could have been taken. The kid was a magnet for disaster, there was no doubt about that.

But...there was no sign of forced entry. No sign of any exit.

Sam was just _gone_.

And Dean kind of hated that it surprised him.

He hated how much he cared even more.

-o-

This was not unfamiliar to him.

The haze between consciousness and oblivion. The uneasy feeling of being restrained and not knowing why or how or by whom.

The knowledge of being _screwed_ and the doubt that anyone would be able to help him.

His head was rolling on his neck, and his eyes were moving beneath his eyelids, and reality was coming to him, slowly and in bits, but coming, coming.

He was in a chair. Tied to it.

Rope. Lots of it.

Coarse and tight and cutting deeply into his wrists.

He blinked, catching a flash of his own sweatpants in his blurred vision.

He was supposed to take a shower. Ten minutes. Dean ate three doughnuts and gave him ten minutes.

The figure in the mirror.

That memory jolted Sam back, and he blinked eyes open with a gasp.

"Castiel," he breathed.

The figure in front of him inclined his head, his expression grim. "Sam."

Sam pulled at his hands, shifting in his seat. "What are you--why am I here?"

"You were warned," Castiel told him, and there was something like sadness in his face. Disappointment.

Sam swallowed, tugging again, no matter how futile it was. "I'm doing it to save people," he said. "To stop demons."

Castiel cocked his head. "You are doing it to stop Lilith."

"So?" Sam shot back. "She's killed a lot of people."

"She killed Dean."

"Doesn't make her not a threat," Sam said. "You said so yourself. She's breaking seals. She needs to be stopped."

"And what makes you think that you are the one to do it?"

"Because I don't see anyone else who is," Sam said, and it was true. The angels had talked of a war and a greater conflict, but there was no evidence. No proof. And after seeing them one on one against Alistair, he didn't have complete confidence that they could do it anyway. They'd threatened an entire town, after all, for one seal. Sam wasn't sure he could trust them to do the right thing.

Which what this was about, no matter what anyone thought. The right thing. Justice. Lilith needed to die for what she'd done to so many innocent souls. For what she'd done to _Dean_. She was trying to destroy the world, and so what was so wrong with stopping her?

"There is much you don't know," Castiel told him simply.

Sam pulled again, harder this time. "So, why don't you tell me? Why don't you tell Dean? Why drag him out of Hell just to leave him like that? To give him vague orders and set up impossible tests and hope he does okay? Do you even know what he's going through? Do you even know about what he remembers? About how that feels?"

A look of compassion flitted over Castiel's face but he didn't move. "I do," he said. "Far better than you. I also know that as much as you say you do this for Dean, you are still the one that puts him at risk."

That was one Sam hadn't expected. "What?"

"The powers, going after demons," Castiel said. "You trust Ruby. All of that makes Dean vulnerable. Distracts him from his main duties."

"But you haven't even told him what they are yet!" Sam said.

"He will know when it is time."

"But what the hell is he supposed to do now!" Sam said. "He's hurting--"

"And you think your lies and deceptions will help soothe that hurt?"

Sam's retort was muffled, and he swallowed back his guilt. "I don't know how else to help him."

"Why do you assume you're supposed to?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "He's my brother," he said. "That's the only responsibility I have that matters. The only thing in my life that's worth anything."

"Are you so quick to throw away your own worth?"

Sam snorted. "My own worth? The boy with demon blood? The boy king? A demon prodigy? I haven't had any worth outside of my family since the day some demon bled in my mouth. Since I was _six months old_. I've been damned since then and playing by the rules has only cost me everything that ever mattered to me. So, what worth do I have? My soul is worth nothing to you. It's worth nothing to the demons. So, who the hell cares what I do with it?"

"You are a child of God."

Sam just shook his head. "I want to believe that," he said. "I tried hard to believe that. But there's no place for me in Heaven. Not even if I stop right now. Is there?"

Castiel's face wavered, and he dropped his head.

The inevitability of it hurt more than Sam had anticipated. "That's what I thought," he said, but his voice was tight, his eyes burning.

Castiel looked up again, resolved. "It is not my place to judge," he said. "Only the Father has that power."

"Yeah?" Sam asked. "So, then, why am I here? Why not just dust me and get it over with?"

Drawing a deep breath, Castiel steadied his gaze, hardening it. "You may still be useful," he said. "As unfortunate as your association with Ruby is, I suspect there may still be something we can glean from it. We need to know what you know. We need to know just how much you've done, how far you have taken things."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "_We_?"

Then Sam saw the movement from the shadows on the opposite side of the room. The figure that stepped out was smirking. "We," Uriel said, and he looked positively gleeful.

Sam swallowed. Hard. Castiel's interference, though perhaps harsh and to the point, has always been tempered with something of compassion. The coldness of Uriel's threats, the disturbing forward nature of his wrath, was another story entirely.

Glancing nervously at Castiel, Sam shifted in his seat again, wetting his lips. "So, God approves of kidnapping people now?"

"This is a war," Castiel replied. "It is unfortunate, but it is not without casualties."

"Unfortunate? That's what you call it?" Sam asked, his heart rate increasing.

Uriel smiled. "Where's your defiance?" Uriel asked. "Where's the brave face of the boy who ignored every warning he got? Those warnings weren't for me, you know. They were for you. As irrelevant as you are, you shouldn't be so quick to bury yourself."

Sam's eyes flashed angrily. "What can I say?" he asked. "I've never been good at following orders."

"Funny," Uriel said. "You'd better hope I am."

"We are not here to kill you, Sam," Castiel interjected.

"Not until you've learned enough, anyway," Sam said.

"Telling us what we need to know will only help our cause," Castiel said. "And it will only help Dean."

"Why all this then?" Sam asked, nodding to the cabin. "Why the abduction, why the bonds? Why not just pull me aside for a nice little heart-to-heart. They seem to work wonders on Dean."

"We don't waste time on would-be dust bunnies like you," Uriel said, stalking closer. "Dean I may tolerate because he is part of the plan. You are a useful bargaining chip sometimes. Sometimes you may even be able to tell us enough to give us a tactical advantage."

"You know, the _Jesus loves you_ approach might win over a few more people rather than threatening me."

"This isn't about saving souls right now," Uriel said. "This is about getting ahead in the war."

"Isn't God all-knowing? Ask him," Sam said, feeling indignant.

Uriel took a step forward, a spark of rage glinting in his eyes. "You are crossing the line of blasphemy, boy. That's even worse than the sins you've already accumulated on your short stay on Earth."

"I suggest you start talking, Sam," Castiel said, still unmoving where he stood. "Uriel has much discretion in matters of reconnaissance and tactical positioning."

Sam's eyes widened. "Discretion?"

Uriel's smile turned malicious and his eyes darkened as he strode even closer. "God rewards the faithful," Uriel said. "Not that you would know anything about that."

This was bad. This was very bad, and Sam couldn't move his hands and he couldn't get away. And he didn't know what to tell them and how much to tell them and he wasn't sure if his hesitance to be honest with them was a personal dislike or a true distrust. Were they out for the right reasons? Should he buy into their part of the plan to save the world? Were they just and good beings, despite the arrogance and harshness?

It was a question of faith, Sam realized. Not in God's existence, because Sam couldn't doubt that at this point. But at the balance of good and evil. Were the angels to be trusted to do the right thing? Or were they just another player that Sam needed to be wary of?

Was Sam being obstinate just for the sake of it? Was he being selfish?

And what did he really know that would help, anyway?

Castiel had saved Dean. That counted for something. But for how much? And these plans for Dean--what if they weren't good? After all, these were angels who smited, who kidnapped--could he trust them with his brother?

"So, tell me," Uriel continued, moving closer still until he was all but hovering over Sam. "What do you know about Lilith?"

Sam kept his countenance even. He shrugged as much as he could.

"You are hunting her, aren't you?" Uriel asked.

"What's it to you?"

"Don't be so foolish," Uriel said. "Every demon we've purged knows about you."

"Then talk to them," Sam said.

This time Castiel stepped forward. "They don't know how much you know," he said. "Nor do they fully know of the intentions of the demon you call Ruby. It perplexes them. Worries some of them. That makes you an unknown variable for both sides. We wish to rectify that situation."

"Besides," Uriel added. "Demons will lie with their dying breath. The more you torture them, the less you can be sure of what they're telling you. Humans, on the other hand, with their fragile bodies and limited little minds. Well, they'll roll over and tell you whatever you want to know."

Sam's breath caught in his throat. "And you expect me to believe that you have good intentions?"

"These are desperate times, Sam," Castiel said. "I do not relish the task, but it is ours to complete. Angels and humans have died alike in this battle. We merely seek to end this as best we can."

"With what, torture?"

Uriel chuckled. "We just brought you here to ask you some questions," he said. "The torture is entirely up to you."

Sam felt disgusted, unnerved. He couldn't trust them. Not with his plans, not with Dean. He _couldn't_.

"Please, Sam," Castiel said and his face was earnest. "Tell us what you know about Lilith."

Sam remembered his brother getting torn alive by Hell hounds. He remembered the look on Dean's face when he told Sam about Hell. Sam remembered Dean's three doughnuts and how he'd deserved each and every one.

He flattened his lips and flared his nose. It was his choice to make and one that might get him killed, but he wouldn't regret that now. He'd spent too much time trying to get Dean back, too much time praying to a God who worked in ways too mysterious to rely on at this point, to roll over and trust blindly now. "No," he said, his voice steeled and even. "No."

Castiel's shoulders seemed to sag and Uriel chuckled again. "All those years and man still hasn't managed to grow a lick of common sense," the angel said. "Which is fine by me. Sometimes, I like to remember just why I'm useful."

Then there was a flash of white and blinding pain tingling through Sam's body. It ran up and down, fiery and cold, with an intensity that made his entire frame twitch. It was like dying and it was like being born again, it was ecstasy and agony, beautiful in its pain, vile in its purity.

When it was over, Sam sagged, slumping forward and panting. The lingering effect made him feel nauseous, weak and broken, and it took all he had to keep himself from crying.

"I'll ask it again," Uriel said. "What do you know about Lilith?"

_Screw Lilith and screw them. Screw their master plan and their ends and means philosophy_. Sam could trust them no more than he could trust Ruby, no more than Dean could trust him. Sam wanted to do the right thing, he _did_, which was why he couldn't tell these two _anything_. Not with Dean at risk. Not with Lilith within his own reach. What if Dean was one of their acceptable losses? What if his brother was a pawn in their endgame to get to her?

It was a risk Sam couldn't take.

He looked up at them through his fringe of bangs and shook his head. "No," he said again, stronger this time. Resolved.

Uriel's smirk widened and he held his hand out.

-o-

The fragility of humanity was both its blessing and its curse.

That had been his favorite part of his time on Earth. Watching the innocence, the purity of emotion. The innate goodness, that inborn desire to achieve, to accomplish, to _love_.

But there was an unfortunate counterpoint to that. The way humans could break. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. Watching them fold in on themselves, give into their vices. Seeing them grieve and bleed.

Angels could be injured, of course. They could even be killed. But the lack of emotion, the simple separation of passion and self, made the process less meaningful.

At least, that was all Castiel could conclude. Losing his own brothers was difficult. Fighting the war was wearisome. But being among humans, watching their young, seeing them choose right and wrong and everything in between, it made the stakes so much more.

Which was why he had agreed to this. Lilith's legions were many, but her presence was hard to track. They seemed to be continually one step behind her. They were losing the battle. Seals were breaking faster than expected. They needed a way to stop the process. Quickly.

But the cost. It kept coming back to the cost.

Sam Winchester was one human. A tainted one at that. His sins were many. His allegiance was questionable. Castiel believed him to be mostly innocent--the blood in his body was not completely his fault--but using the powers, consorting with demons, made him an uncertain variable that worried Castiel more than he cared to admit.

Still, seeing the boy slumped over in the seat, body limp, face streaked with tears, Castiel could see the best and worst in humanity. He could see the pride that led to fall and the sheer determination that could only come by the truest essence of choice.

Sam had said nothing.

Uriel's methods were cruel and precise, painful and exact, and Sam had grimaced and cried out when the pain became too much, but had disclosed nothing.

Not his leads on Lilith. Not Ruby's intentions. Not Sam's own part in it. Castiel could not even be sure how much of his own powers Sam was currently using, how much of his own destiny he had fully realized.

His loyalty was admirable.

However, Castiel could not be certain just what his loyalty was to. To Ruby? To his own powers? To his brother? Sam was protecting someone; otherwise there would be no point for such obstinate heroics, but what?

Stepping forward, he held his hand up to Uriel, who hesitated.

"We have a mission to complete," he said, a note of defiance in his gravelly voice.

Castiel stepped in front of him, eyes fixed on their captive. Sam seemed mostly unconscious, his chest heaving in exhaustion. If he could hear their conversation, he didn't let on.

"Clearly torture is not working," Castiel said.

"Perhaps he just needs more persuasion," Uriel said, his voice edged with anticipation.

Castiel ignored him, kneeling down in front of Sam. Closer now, he could see Sam's body trembling, the hairs on his arms sticking up from the trauma. His heaving breaths were tinged with a pain-filled whine, and Castiel tried not to wince.

"Sam," he said, his voice gentle and clear. "You must look at me."

It took a minute, and Sam's body wavered.

"Sam, I will not hurt you," he said, and it was true. His job was to stop a war, to defeat Lilith on her minions. Not to inflict pain on humans caught in the crossfire. Not even humans like Sam Winchester.

At that, Sam's eyes flicked open, but his lids were heavy and he tilted his head up just enough to look Castiel squarely in the eyes. He licked his lips, swallowing with effort. "Like you haven't already?"

"I have not touched you," Castiel said.

Sam laughed at that, a breathless chuckle. "Standing by and letting it happen doesn't make me feel much better."

"You simply must tell us what we want to know," Castiel said. "You don't have to be a bad person, no matter what you believe. You have choices you can make. Choices for your own redemption."

Sam just shook his head. "I have no reason to trust you," he said, his voice strained. "You dragged Dean out of Hell, but you left him like _that_. You tell him you have plans, but it's all mystery and tests and he doesn't deserve that. He deserves to be saved because he's a good person. No strings attached. That's what he deserves. What you're doing--how you're using him, it makes you no better than the rest of them."

"You have believed," Castiel implored. "Even after Dean was sent to Hell, you believed. Why do you doubt now?"

Sam's mouth twisted into something like a smile, but it was pulled with sadness and taut with a misery so deep that it struck Castiel deeply. "I still believe," he said. "You're standing right there in front of me. How can I not?"

"Then why do you defy us?" Why did he make it so difficult? Why did he exhibit such blind obstinance?

"I thought God could make things better," he said. "Balance the scorecard. Maybe I could accept the fact that I was condemned when I was six months old. But the rest of the world? Dean? They deserve _better_. Don't they?"

Sometimes, Castiel wondered that himself. That if in all their efforts to save humanity, they had forgotten the very essence of why it mattered. That maybe there was an inherent flaw. An army of angels was powerful in strength and formidable in scope but lacking in the compassion and immediacy to make made them truly effective.

Perhaps that was why Dean Winchester mattered.

Maybe even why Sam Winchester mattered.

"Yet you keep your secrets to yourself," Uriel's voice came from behind. "We are stronger than you--better than you. You, even with your filthy blood, are still human. Frail. Breakable. Fallible. _We_ can stop Lilith. _You, _despite your protests, have _failed_, despite multiple opportunities. And yet you persist blindly."

Sam's eyes flicked to the other angel over Castiel's shoulder. "Will you do it with or without smiting an entire town?" Sam asked.

Castiel didn't even have time to step back when another jolt hit their captive, and Sam writhed, his body jerking spastically under the force of it.

Pulling himself back up to full height, Castiel looked disapprovingly at his colleague. "This tactic is not effective," he said.

Uriel dropped his hand, looking vaguely disappointed. "And you suggest coddling him?" The angel nodded to Sam. "Look at him. He's worthless to us. His usefulness is past. We should destroy him before he threatens anything else."

Castiel looked again at Sam, who appeared completely limp this time, save for the rattling breaths drawn in and out of his slouched frame. "It is not about his usefulness," Castiel said. "He is human."

"He is an abomination," Uriel spat back. "You are soft on all these pathetic life forms."

"They are our Father's children."

"Adoptive children at best," Uriel said. "Only allowed into His presence by a grace they do not deserve."

"Which shows you just how well loved they are."

Uriel conceded that point. "Maybe. But this one? He is part _demon_."

"By no choice of his own," Castiel said.

"What about sleeping with the demon? What about using his powers? What about his constant refusal to obey orders?"

All valid points. But what about Sam's motives? What about his desire to do good? What about the boy who had believed even when he had no reason to?

Perhaps Uriel was right. Castiel's compassion was hindering him. This time among humans, seeing their range of emotions and capabilities, it made it more difficult to make the hard choices. More difficult to do his job devoid of emotion.

There was a reason, after all, why God chose to save humanity.

And Sam Winchester, the boy with demon blood, was still _human_. And Castiel could see it. There was a yearning for power, yes. There was a desire to be right, to be strong, to be victorious in him. He had many flaws and his actions were questionable at their very core.

But Castiel was beginning to understand something even more important. That so much of what Sam did, so much of who he was, was invested in love for another. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."

Uriel seemed to consider that, nodding slowly before a large grin spread across his face. "You're right," he said. "No wonder these tactics won't work. We've been dangling the wrong carrot."

Castiel paused, confused, and watched as his fellow angel strode forward, lifting Sam's chin with his hand until the pale face was turned up toward him.

"I know you're awake," Uriel boomed.

Castiel swallowed, feeling suddenly uneasy.

Sam's eyelids fluttered and his shoulders seemed to slump.

"You won't talk to help our cause," Uriel said. "You won't talk to help yourself. But let me ask you, will you talk for Dean?"

Confusion washed over Sam's tired features.

"We can make his life easier or we can make his life harder," Uriel said. "He's part of the plan, but nothing says that he has to be whole, physically or mentally. Would you like us to pay him a visit? Perhaps bring him here? Tell him just what you've been doing: Or better yet, make him remember just what he did, every moment?"

Sam's forehead crinkled and tears wet his eyes. It was clear he was reaching his breaking point.

"Uriel," Castiel said, because it didn't feel right. They were justified in their means; they had been given that much discretion, but this--these threats, on a mortal who was already so weakened--felt wrong.

Uriel didn't listen, just leered closer. "You seem so keen on protecting him," he said. "So, what will it be? Your secrets or Dean's well being?"

Sam shook his head minutely, and his eyes were wide now, pleading and desperate.

Uriel simply smirked and a bolt of light left his hand, filtering directly into their captive with a surprising force that sent Sam sprawling, chair and all.

Sam groaned and Uriel peered dispassionately down at him. "Oops," he said. "Seemed to have slipped. You know what that's like, though. Why else would you risk using your evil powers? The ones given to you by the demon that destroyed your _entire_ family."

Sam's eyes opened to slits, full of hurt and fury. "Screw you," he spat, and it was the wrong thing to say. Stupid and bold and so very human.

The disdain in Uriel was reaching its boiling point, and Castiel could feel the shift in his counterpart. Soldiers had to be ruthless. But only when necessary.

Looking down at Sam's defiant face, he saw something more. He saw a beaten body. A downtrodden spirit. Someone who needed grace. Redemption.

Not condemnation.

Their mission was to save Sam Winchester and the rest of the world.

Not destroy them.

"Stop," Castiel said, his voice cutting through Uriel's rage.

The other angel just shook his head. "I should have dusted him months ago," he said. "No respect. He is everything bad about this earth."

Castiel would appeal to a different tact, then. "Our orders--"

"Are to win this war," Uriel seethed. "He is a hindrance to that goal."

"We must--"

But Uriel was not going to listen. He had the right to destroy Sam Winchester. A sinner. Consorting with the enemy. It was justified.

With an outstretched hand, white light emitted again, and Sam twitched, the energy coursing through his body with an increasing intensity.

Uriel's wrath was justified, but narrow in scope. Castiel could still see the look of awe on Sam's face when they first met. The extended handshake. So naive. So hopeful.

They had destroyed that hope.

The man who lay before them, helpless and broken, was partly their fault. Not just for the physical ailments he was suffering, but for the psychological ones as well.

Sam Winchester deserved to die.

But so did the rest of humanity. Sin, even great sin, was no unique to this one, after all.

That didn't mean their orders weren't to save as many as possible.

It was barely a conscious thought. Castiel might be able to thwart Uriel's powers, but the clash between angel and angel had the potential to be catastrophic. He did not wish to harm Uriel, much less destroy him. Uriel was still an important soldier in the war, and they had lost too many already. And Uriel's destructive power was great.

No, he needed another way to stop this.

Uriel bore down, his teeth gritting, and Sam was convulsing now, his body jerking at the bonds that held him.

Sam's body would not withstand much more. Uriel would not stop until the job was done.

Castiel had one option. It was risky and it was unconventional, but it was all he had.

He closed the eyes of his host, and sucked his essence inward. With a gentle brush, he subdued the mind of his host even further, letting it sink deep into his subconscious. The physical wounds the host had endured were palpable and he spared only a moment to mend them.

Then, with a burst of energy, he pulled himself out.

Being free from a human form was freeing, light and ethereal. He was uninhibited, closer to God.

Yet, he still had work to do.

Uriel had stopped, covering his eyes and cowering, protecting his own host as best he could, but Castiel could still feel the protests against his choice.

He would not stop.

Hovering, he saw Sam, too weak to even twitch. Their captive's own essence was fading, diminishing. One more good blow, and it would be gone forever.

Uriel was struggling to raise a hand even from his crouched position, and Castiel did not hesitate. With speed and grace, he reminded himself that Sam had prayed for redemption many nights, that he had prayed for goodness and light and a chance to make things better. Being the host to an angel was not easy for the human mind to tolerate, so their willingness was a necessary part of the equation, and even then--

Sam believed. Sam wanted to do good.

It was close enough.

Surging forward, Castiel poured himself into Sam, moving through his body, feeling the pulsing of the blood through his veins. It took a moment while the body shuddered, the very synapses protesting, the blood recoiling, but just for a moment.

When he reached Sam's mind, he reached for it gently, and it resisted, strong and stubborn.

Castiel pushed against Sam's will again, with the force and persistence of light and the unspoken promise that he did not wish Sam harm, that he would help Sam, that he would help Dean.

And Sam's defenses fell, and Castiel settled in, feeling the body around him begin to beat in tandem with his own presence, his own essence.

After a long moment, Castiel felt the rise and fall of his chest, of Sam's chest, felt the lingering currents of electricity tingling through the singed cells of this shared body.

He took a deliberate breath, sucking in deep, and then opened his eyes.

It was the same room. Small and dark and poorly furnished.

But still, completely different.

Because _he_ was completely different.

From his position on the floor, the chair was digging painfully into his back and his hands felt cramped from being trapped beneath the weight of his body. Eyes roaming the scene, he saw Uriel standing above him, mouth agape. "You took him as a host?" the other angel said.

With easy movement, Castiel broke the rope, rolling himself off the chair. Standing, he stretched out his fingers and felt the new physical presence of this host. He was taller than Uriel now, and the body in his possession had more inherent strength than the last. The eyes were more attuned to detail, more focused on tactical positioning.

"We're not supposed to take our hosts willy-nilly," Uriel said, still gaping a bit.

Castiel rolled his head, shrugging his shoulders, and trying to ease the kinks out of his back. "Nor are we supposed to torture and kill without just cause," he said.

"He is--"

"Human," Castiel said. "He is one hundred percent human."

"But his blood--"

"Does not control him," Castiel said. "It does not define him unless he lets it."

"You interfered."

"We were sent to interfere."

"He doesn't fit the criteria," Uriel said, his ire raising.

"He believes."

"He is not worthy," Uriel insisted. "You pollute yourself with that _thing_."

Castiel sucked in a deep and calming breath, feeling the faculties of this body come to him. "He sought redemption," Castiel replied, and he knew it now better than ever. He could feel that need, that desire to do _good_, pulsing with every beat of this borrowed heart. "There is no vessel more worthy than this."

"So, what then?" Uriel asked. "What of him?" The angel nodded to the other host, lying limply on the floor.

Castiel walked to him, kneeling down and putting a strong hand under his chin. "Physically, he is well," he said. He sat back on his heels. "And I do not intend to be in this body long."

"Just long enough to keep me from my purpose."

Castiel stood again. "Do you really think there is a better way to learn his secrets than this?" he asked. "This body, this mind, are at my full disclosure. What he knows, I know."

Uriel raised his eyebrows. "So, you did this to learn what we need to know?"

He sighed. He could not lie. "No," he said simply. "I did it because I did not believe he deserved to die."

"And now?"

Castiel felt the surge of fear and desperation at the mind inside of him, the broken plea for help, to make it stop, to purge the evil from his veins and make him whole again. But even more than that, he could feel the desolation that led to despair. The yearning for redemption, not for his own sake, but for the sake of the one he loved, which drove him to break all barriers of right and wrong that he once held.

There was much darkness. Much agony and defeat and sin.

And so much need. So much need, shrouding the most innocent, most desperate flame of hope Castiel had ever sensed. Hope that this evil could be stopped. That this evil could end. If not for himself, for the world. For Dean.

Castiel swallowed, easing the mind back, shushing it, lulling it into a temporary peace. "Now I am more certain than ever."

Without allowing Uriel time to ask another question or to voice another objection, he turned, walking to the door. It was time to take Sam Winchester home.

-o-

_Possessed_.

Sam had been possessed before. Possessed by Meg, by the demon they called Meg. She'd taken him over from the inside out, and that week had been nothing but blackness and pain, snippets of awareness that was not his own. There was blood and smoke, sex and alcohol, and murder, and _evil_, and Sam couldn't rise above the corner of his own mind to grasp much of it at all.

He still didn't remember. His lost week. He remembered the smarting of his jaw from Dean's sucker punch and he remembered the puckered flesh of Dean's shoulder wound, but that had been Meg's dominion, and the violation of his mind and body had been complete.

So, he knew possession. He did. He remembered the terrifying blankness, the paralyzing sense of detachment.

This...was different.

White.

So white.

White, like light, purity and light, radiating through him, illuminating every inch of his dark soul.

It scared him at first. Too bright, too much. He thought it would burn away everything he was, scorch his tainted blood and devour his secret deeds.

But not quite.

Its power was immense but its touch was gentle. It seeped through him, but didn't conquer. It hovered in his mind, not overpowering, but lulling.

His soul craved it as much as it was terrified of it. Because it was a heavy, dangerous purity, restrained, but just barely.

He was no longer a captive, but in this light, free will seemed so moot. What choice was there to make? What other options could he possibly entertain when something so right and so good was in him? The power to cleanse was the power to destroy.

_Redemption_.

_We all seek redemption_.

He had to give up his mind, give up his body, give up his plans, and trust this much to be possible.

Castiel could have destroyed him.

Why Castiel had saved him, he wasn't sure.

What he had been saved from, he was even less sure.

But the question rolled around in his brain and he was moving without his own consent and his own humiliation at being so exposed nearly choked him with grief.

_Hush_.

But Sam had never been good at orders, and to give himself up to this, to fully surrender would be such a risk.

_Your faith must be stronger than this._

And Sam didn't know if it was, if it ever was. If his faith had been desperate flight of fancy, a scapegoat, something, anything, but he wanted _this_. He wanted it as much as he didn't, and there was no choice.

_Rest._

And it sounded like angels wings: strong, powerful, fluid, compassionate.

Compassion. For _him_. Even with what he'd become.

_Rest_.

And Sam did.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm glad part one resonated with as many readers as it seemed to. One of the joys of fandom is connecting with other fans who can share and consider your point of view. Bear in mind that I don't see either boy as perfect and that I think they're both trying hard in their own ways, but the fact is, they're pretty much too deep in their own issues to really know how to grasp one another. Be warned, this is designed to fit in canon, so there is no happy ending right now.

* * *

PART TWO

Castiel walked.

It was a long walk, yes, but this body was new to him. New and powerful in ways he had not comprehended. The physical strength alone was something foreign to him, and he could feel the resolve of will that had allowed him to break but not fall apart.

And the blood.

That was the hardest part to grasp. The blood throbbing through those veins, a part of him, yet not. It had the potential to be encompassing, to control. It sought destruction and power.

Lesser men would have fallen in its presence.

Lesser men had.

And while Sam Winchester used the power in his veins, it did not yet define him. There was a risk for that, yes, always a risk. But it was blood. Even if it could touch the soul, there was a more powerful blood still that could wash it clean.

But Sam Winchester did not believe he could be saved.

Castiel knew that was the greatest lie, the most damaging seduction of all. The belief in one's own damnation left the soul devoid of hope prematurely. Grace was made for sinners.

That was Azazel's legacy. Not that he bled in the mouths of his innocent victims, but that he seduced them with its power. That he trapped them within their own minds and let each victim devour his or herself.

Sam had stood against that. He had rallied, fought, and won.

Surely, Lilith did not just make the deal to secure Dean Winchester, as enticing as that was. Surely, she knew that if power alone, if survival at its very core could not tempt Sam Winchester, then the threat of failure would.

Uriel was wrong. This one did not deserve damnation. Not yet. Not when he still could be saved. Not when all his intentions were still good. Misguided, broken, but _good_.

Not damnation. Salvation. Grace. _Hope_.

How long had it been since this soul had had true hope? Since he'd been able to see that something better was possible? How many times could that hope be squashed before there was no hope for its return?

Because Castiel could feel the jagged scars of broken hope. At Sam losing his dreams of safety. At losing his girlfriend. At losing his father. At losing his hopes of innocence. At losing his brother.

Failure was more dangerous than any demonic curse could ever be. And even with his brother back, Sam saw monsters win. He saw demons save lives. He saw angels destroy.

And he saw his brother fall apart.

_Failure_.

This soul needed restoration.

This soul needed peace.

Yet, God had sent Castiel to save Dean Winchester. God had sent him to stop Lilith. This soul was not his charge.

And yet...Sam was the essence of humanity. He was the essence of Dean. Perhaps saving one always meant saving the other.

But the evil. Could he deny the evil? Was it worth it if Sam turned anyway? Was it even fair to Sam himself to allow him to continue living with this temptation flowing through his blood? Sam had already compromised so much, more than Castiel had previously realized. The lines Sam was crossing--it was a dangerous game.

And still, Castiel could see a six-month-old baby in his crib. A mother, ten years before his birth. And a lifetime of fear, and failure no soul should carry.

By all rights, Sam Winchester deserved Hell. For his blood. For his choices. It was a fair punishment.

But that was the beauty of grace, Castiel supposed. It made life not fair, in the best possible ways. What sinner deserved redemption? Through grace--all of them.

As the road stretched before him, the relentless sun pounding down on this body, Castiel wondered if he would trade his own immortality for this. If he could throw it all away, like Anna had and Lucifer before her. If this pain was worth such disobedience.

But the love Sam carried. Warped and jaded and jagged, thrived ever still, and Castiel did not doubt God's wisdom in keeping this from him. Because it was as paralyzing as it was empowering.

The love pushed him to this. The love could save him.

Castiel just hoped he wasn't too late.

-o-

It was hours later before he reached the motel room. Sam's body, as fit and lean as it was, would have been exhausted by the trek, but Castiel barely felt the beads of perspiration pooling in the armpits of Sam's t-shirt. The large feet were still bare, and upon reflection, Castiel realized that he had likely damaged them on the long journey.

But he could not regret it. Some journeys, no matter how perilous, had to be made by foot. Sam, even as sequestered as he was within his own mind, would surely appreciate that.

It was time they both needed. To think. To figure this out. Uriel would be angry when he returned. He would question this choice even more, perhaps even threaten a bout of defiance that would not be unprecedented. Seals were breaking, and even compassion could not trump that fact.

Which was why that walk was more important. Because Castiel needed to know exactly what to say and to understand exactly why this choice, as controversial as it would be, would be worth it in the end.

There were other matters to attend to, first. This body was not his for the keeping, and yet returning it would not be an easy process. He would need help. Sam would not be capable of taking care of himself for some time, Castiel feared, and there was only one person that Sam trusted enough with that kind of charge. Dean needed to keep watch over his brother, physically and spiritually. Now, more than ever.

He saw the dark, sleek body of the car and hoped that help would be forthcoming. For all their sakes.

Sam had no key on him, but Castiel did not need a key. A nod of his head and the motel room door swung open, and Castiel stepped inside.

He was greeted with the sound of a gun cocking.

Dean Winchester was standing, shotgun prime and pointed at Sam's chest.

Recognition dawned on Dean's features, and surprise gave way to anger. "What the hell, Sam? Where have you been?"

He could feel Sam's essence bristling, almost unconsciously trying to defend himself, even while realizing the futility of it. It was an odd sensation, powerful and overwhelming. These brothers had been here before.

Dean was steaming. He chucked the shotgun on the bed and ran a hand through his hair in a huff. "I tell you I'm going to watch your sorry ass, and what? You sneak out of the bathroom? How the hell did you even get out? There aren't any windows in there," Dean said, clearly stewing, as he paced restlessly across the room.

The older brother turned eyes of betrayal and distrust toward Sam. "Is that one of the latest freaky power things you can do? Walk through walls? Teleport? Is that what Ruby's been teaching you in your little early morning sessions? And here I was just hoping little Sammy was getting kinky with the phone sex."

Castiel cocked his head. There was concern and fear, laden beneath the anger. This was not how he had expected Dean to react. Not given Sam's devotion to his brother.

But it made sense. Love was pushing Sam to new depths of betrayal. It was pushing Dean to new heights of fear and anger. Such powerful emotions, so easy to underestimate and so easy to misinterpret. Where there were two brothers fighting, there was truly two brothers more afraid than ever of losing the one thing left that mattered to them.

"You're that pissed about the doughnut?" Dean snapped. "You've been petty and selfish before, but this is just plain _stupid_. After all I've been through, after all the things I've done to keep you safe, you're going to disappear out of the bathroom just because you felt like it?"

"Dean--" Castiel tried to say.

Dean's face hardened and he shook his head. "I can't wait to hear your excuse," he said. "What were you doing? Off with Ruby? Exorcising a demon, maybe? Handling something you think I'm too afraid to do? Or maybe too weak? If you think you can pull this crap with me, you've got another think coming. Demon psychic mojo or not, I can still kick your ass, and you _know _it."

"Dean--" Castiel tried again.

But Dean didn't hear him. Wouldn't hear him. He shook his head again and continued to pace the far wall. "It's not enough that angels tell you to stop. It's not enough that I tell you to stop. It's not enough that I have to go to Hell to keep you from using this crap, but now you're lying to me about everything. You're lying and you're sneaking out and I swear to _God_, Sammy, if I have to tie you up and keep you in the trunk I will, because I haven't saved your ass for the last twenty-five years to have you go throw it away like this."

"You are afraid," Castiel said, decisively.

Dean stopped and looked at him, nose scrunched. "What the hell are you talking about? And why aren't you dressed? Where did you go? You're not even wearing _shoes_. What was so damned important this time?"

Castiel looked down, taking in the bloody mess that was Sam's feet. He looked back up at Dean, who was looking at him with more than a little bit of impatience. "Sam did not leave of his own accord."

Dean looked incredulous. "_Sam did not leave of his own accord_?" he asked. "Is this the next level of demonology that Ruby's teaching you? Keep getting rid of all ties to your human side by referring to yourself in the third person?"

Castiel shook his head. "No, you misunderstand," he said. "Sam is here, with me. But Sam did not leave of his own accord, nor did he choose to return on his own either."

Nervousness was ghosting over Dean's face, and he eyed the shotgun furtively. "Sammy, cut it out. Now. Or I swear, I will blow you full of rock salt just on principle."

"Dean," Castiel tried again. "Listen to me. Sam is in here, with me."

"With who?"

Castiel inclined his head, an amused smile playing on his lips. "You do not recognize the one who pulled you from your torment?"

Dean's eyes widened. "Cas?"

"Yes."

Dean was looking at him, half shocked, half terrified. "How do I know you're not lying to me?"

Castiel inclined his head. "Surely your soul recognizes the one who pulled you from the depths of Hell."

Dean hesitated, his skepticism fading marginally. "What happened to the holy tax accountant?"

"His body is with Uriel, resting."

"Resting?"

"Until I am ready to return to it."

Dean licked his lips, brow furrowing. "So, this stint in Sam, it's, uh--temporary?"

"And very unexpected."

Dean shook his head, as if to get his bearings. "I think you're leaving some important parts out of the story here."

Humans had the strangest expressions.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Like, what the hell were you doing with Sam in the first place?"

It was an expected question, Castiel supposed, though one he had not fully wanted to answer. His reasons were good and justified, but it did not make it any easier. Especially not now, not knowing the depth of Sam Winchester's despair as he did. "We believed Sam had some vital information in regards to Lilith's location."

"Aren't you angels supposed to be on top of that kind of stuff?"

"Of course," Castiel said. "Why else would we ask Sam for her location?"

"Yeah, but that's what I mean," Dean said. "Why do you need Sam at all? You're _angels_. You dragged me out of Hell. What could Sam possibly know that you don't?"

"Angels are...powerful," Castiel explained with a shrug. "But they are not omniscient. Nor are they omnipotent. I was not the first to attempt rescuing from Hell. I was merely the first to succeed."

That news settled over Dean's face with a shock and disbelief. The hunter swallowed them back painfully. "That still doesn't explain why my brother is riding shotgun in his own body."

"Sam has...connections."

Dean didn't need anything more than that to put the pieces together. "Ruby," he muttered. "That bitch is more trouble than she's worth."

"Her role is undetermined as of yet," Castiel admitted. "However, she is a viable player in this fight and her tracking of Lilith is at a level we cannot imitate."

"And why's that?"

"Each knows its own," Castiel said. "Demons know demons. They are interconnected, just as angels are. I'm surprised you cannot still sense them yourself."

Dean bristled, stiffening and tilting his head back defensively. "So, talk to Ruby then."

"Even if we could trust her intention, she is a demon," Castiel said. "She is as hard to track as Lilith."

"And yet you always know just where we are," Dean shot. "What's up with that?"

Castiel could not help but smile. "Humans occupy a different tier of existence," he explained. "One angels have a great deal of power over."

Dean seemed to accept that, but he did not look happy. He scowled, sighing and he paced a few more steps before looking back at him. "So was Sam any more honest with you than he is with me?"

"He would say nothing," Castiel admitted.

Dean pursed his lips. "Figures," he said. "He's been an annoying prick ever since I got out of the pit."

The soul within him ached. It did not dispute it, but the pain was palpable, even as far back as Castiel had sequestered Sam.

Dean eyed him closely. "You've got that same freaky secretive look Sam does," he said. "It must be a default setting for him."

There was much anger in Dean as well. Anger and rage that Castiel had recognized in the depths of Hell. He did not like to see it on his charge. Not when Dean was needed for the fight ahead. "Why are you so angry with your brother?" Castiel asked.

Scoffing, Dean just stared at him. "You're kidding, right?"

"The deal you made was for his life, was it not?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah--"

"Then I assume you valued his life."

"Of course--"

"And yet you are so quick to discredit him now?" It wasn't an accusation, but a question. The nature of love, its power and its manifestations, were hard to grasp.

Dean's face hardened and he looked vaguely stricken. "The Sam you're in right now--that's not the Sam I died for. I don't know what the Hell happened to him, but that Sam? May be gone forever. And the one in his place? Is all lies and arrogance. He lied to me right when I got back, did you know that? First words out of his mouth almost. Lied about Ruby. Lied about his super special powers. He doesn't care what I tell him. He doesn't care what _God_ wants him to do. He's all about _Sam_. And all the things I _did _trust him with? The truth about Hell? He threw it back at me. Called me weak. Told me I was holding him back."

It was as honest as anything else Castiel had heard. Dean Winchester was many things, but a liar was not among them. His faults were numerous, but Castiel had always appreciated that much about this man.

And yet, it did not parse. To feel the love and need within Sam. The regret, the sorrow, the desperation. It did not make some of Sam's choices _right_, but it also did not warrant Uriel's wrath. Nor did it merit the loss of compassion from the one who he loved most.

The one Castiel had saved.

"What?" Dean asked. "Trying to make sense of the crap in his head? I wouldn't recommend it. Might screw with your almighty angel goodness."

"You are quick to judge," Castiel said finally.

"Quick? I've been watching Sam make the same mistakes ever since I got back. Hell, _before _I got back."

"Quite possibly," Castiel said. "And I have been watching you make the same ones for just as long."

Dean froze, his face trembling with uncertainty. "What?"

"How many times have I told you, Dean Winchester, that you have been chosen? That you have a mission?"

Dean's brow furrowed. "A couple."

"And how many times have you defied me?" he asked.

Dean looked defensive. "You told me it was a test."

"And I did not tell you if you passed it or not."

Dean's mouth closed. "So, a guy's not allowed to question."

"Of course," Castiel said. "And human weakness often leads to foolish decisions."

"Even in my greatest screws-up, I haven't done what Sam's doing. He's using _demon powers_. Cas, he's hardly even acting _human_ anymore."

"Dean," Castiel said, and his voice was soft and to the point. "Must I remind you where I found you?"

Dean stopped, paling.

"Need I remind you of your own inhumanity?"

"It's different," Dean said. "I was in Hell, I didn't have a choice, I didn't--"

"You misunderstand, Dean," Castiel continued. "My hope is not to condemn you. That is not why I saved you."

Dean's position remained stiff and guarded. "Then what is the point?"

"Just that you remember your own faults before you judge others. All sin is equal in the eyes of the Lord."

Dean swallowed hard. "So, you're okay with Sam then? With his _powers_? What about all the crap you said before, about me stopping him or you doing it?"

"He walks a dangerous road," Castiel said. "And I am not certain he knows how to stop himself."

"That's my point--he needs to be _stopped_."

"And anger and resentment is the way to accomplish that?"

"I don't know what else to do with him," Dean admitted. "I've tried--"

"Have you?" Castiel asked. "Do not forget that I know Sam better than you do now. I know his every thought and his every fear. I know every emotion and every memory. I know what he does what he does and I know just how perilous his journey is. More than that, I know how much he loves you. And how much he needs you."

It was clearly not easy for Dean to hear, and his face was tight, trying to hide the emotion that threatened to split it. He shook his head. "He told me I was weak," Dean said in a rush. "That I'm holding him back. He doesn't _deserve _my compassion. Hell, he doesn't deserve any more chances with me at all."

"It is not the healthy who need a doctor," Castiel said, with a shake of his head. "But the sick."

"Is it so hard for you supernatural types to speak in plain English?" Dean shot back, his attempt at humor as clear a plea for a merciful end to this conversation clear.

It didn't seem quite right. There was more Castiel wished to say, more Castiel wished to help these two understand. He wanted Sam to stop lying, to cease his activities with Ruby. He wanted Dean to stop dwelling on his own fears and hurts and recognize that the person who needed to be saved the most was standing right in front of him.

But what of Castiel's mission? What of the free will of human beings? He had interfered too much, he feared, taking this body. He still had his own work to do and the bigger picture was still in play. He had the information he needed from Sam Winchester's tormented brain and there was no time to fix his relationship with his brother.

He sighed. "Time is short," he said. "I must go."

"With or without Sam?"

"Without," Castiel said. "I must return to my former host."

"You still never said why you took Sam to begin with."

Castiel raised one of Sam's eyebrows. "You remembered to ask?"

Dean looked moderately chagrined.

"Uriel is somewhat...overzealous in his interrogation tactics," Castiel said.

There was a flash of concern on Dean's face, and Castiel could not help but think that maybe all was not lost between these two after all. "Wait, what--"

Castiel smiled. "I have other issues I must attend to," he said. Then he paused. "You must be warned, this incident may be hard on Sam."

"Hard how?"

"The true essence of an angel is powerful."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "I seem to remember windows blown out and a noise so loud I was nearly deaf."

"To be possessed by an angel, can sometimes leave the host...affected."

"Affected?" Dean asked. "Affected how?"

"If I did not soften the memory, I have no doubt Sam's sanity would suffer."

Dean's eyes widened. "So, you saved my little brother's life only to make him cuckoo for Coco Puffs?"

"What are Coco Puffs?"

Dean shook his head. "So, you're telling me Sam's going to be crazy?"

Castiel blinked, trying to shake his head clear. Being around humans was so distracting. "No," he said. "At least I hope that is not the case. I have pushed Sam's mind as far back as I can to shield him from this experience. I will, of course, return his body to its whole state as I leave. Yet the experience will still be spiritually exhausting. I suspect he will sleep for quite some time. Perhaps even days, while his soul tries to come to sense with what has happened to him."

"But, he'll be okay, right?"

Castiel sighed a bit. "I cannot guarantee it, but I think he will."

"You think?"

"After several days' rest, I think he should awake with full control of his faculties."

"And what will he remember?"

"That is not clear," Castiel said. "Angels have not often walked among humans. Our hosts are taken selectively, often with far more preparation than Sam had. But he believes and he was willing, two factors which will bode well for him. Still, it will perhaps be a blessing if he does not remember."

Dean looked a little lost. "So, what? I'm just supposed to sit here with my brother and hope he's okay?"

"Do you have other business you need to attend to?" Castiel asked.

Emotions flitted over Dean's eyes. He licked his lips. "No," he said. "I guess I don't."

Castiel straightened, rallying his essence within Sam's body. He looked purposefully at Dean. "Close your eyes," he said. "For your own sake."

Dean stared a moment longer, swallowing evenly, before he shut his eyes.

Closing Sam's eyes as well, Castiel summoned himself. With a gentle touch to urge Sam's spirit deeper within, he brought himself to his full power, pulling into himself and then, with a collected moment, he burst forth. He escaped the room, only briefly seeing as Dean ducked to cover himself from the force of it. As Sam's body fell away, slumped to the floor, he escaped through the ceiling and rose to the sky.

-o-

Jess always hogged the blankets. She never meant to--or, at least, so she said--but Sam would always dream of being cold and exposed, frigid and vulnerable, before waking up to the dark ceiling of his apartment and finding himself devoid of blankets, which Jess had collected and cocooned around herself.

They joked about it, and Sam always pretended to be upset, always threatened that she'd wake up and find him as a block of ice--which was funny, it was, until she was a ball of fire.

But cold, that sudden sense of a chill, washing over him, surprising him, pulling him out of the dark, safe haven of his own mind.

This was like that, only worse.

This was like that, only _more_.

It was like the time Dean had thrown him in the motel room pool to teach him how to swim in typical big brother fashion. The water had been brisk and dirty and Sam's system had panicked, his body thrashing, before he found the surface and realized he could float.

It was like a sucker punch, like the one Dean had thrown after the confrontation about Dad, or the two when Dean found out about the powers. Hard, to the point, bitter and painful. Like the one after he'd been possessed.

_Possessed_.

He'd been possessed. Meg, no, not Meg. But...

Castiel?

The knowledge of it was as terrifying as it was reassuring, and the fact that he'd been possessed came right before the stark realization that it was over.

It wasn't the possession that was bad. No, he remembered that. The light. The warmth. Knowing that it was okay, that he was okay, that it was going to be okay. For the first time since Dean had died, since his dad had died, since Jess had died, since his dad had kicked him out, since he found out that his entire life was based on a _lie_.

Redemption and rest. _Hush_.

The greatest peace he'd ever known.

_Gone_.

And he saw just how pathetic he was. How wrong he was. How he had ever hoped to appeal to _that_ That he thought he might _earn it_.

Sam was dirty and evil and _wrong_ in comparison, so wrong that it _hurt_.

So alone that he wanted to cry.

The glory of God was not his to strive for. It never was. Never would be.

He needed to end this. He needed to end himself. He just needed it to stop, to get the blood out, to make Ruby go away, to make the powers just stop, just stop, _just stop_.

But he couldn't. He couldn't do anything. He was paralyzed and he was broken and he was _nothing_ and he missed the light as much as he feared it.

_Oh, God_, he thought, and he wasn't sure if it was a prayer or a curse, and he let the darkness take him once again.

-o-

Dean wasn't sure how much more he could take.

From Sam disappearing on him, to having Castiel bring him back. The idea of Sam and Cas together was a little mind-boggling as it was, but then to see Cas _wearing_ Sam? All sorts of weird.

But weird didn't help the fact that Sam was lying sprawled out on the floor right in front of him or that the walls of the motel room were still shaking with Castiel's freakin' dramatic exit.

Then again, maybe the walls weren't shaking. Maybe he was shaking because he thought he'd lost Sam, because Castiel had just laid some heavy crap on his shoulders..._again_.

Looking at Sam, prone on the floor, features slack with unconsciousness, it was hard to stay resolved. It was hard to stay mad. It was hard not to see some of the innocence and purity that made Sam _Sam_.

How long had it been? Since he _really _looked at Sam? Since he'd seen his brother as, well, his _brother_? Not his powers, not his lies, not Ruby, not even the words he'd said under the siren's spell. But just _Sam_. The Sam who had tried so hard to save him. The Sam who had lost Jessica. The Sam who had fretted over his powers, who had tried to do the right thing even to the point where it got him stabbed in the back.

The Sam he'd watched grow up. The Sam he'd held in his arms and watched die.

The Sam he'd gone to Hell for.

Hell. As if he could ever forget Hell.

But maybe that was the problem. He couldn't forget Hell. And sometimes it was hard to imagine anyone suffering as much as he had down there.

He'd asked about Ruby. He'd asked about his powers. But...he'd been so sure that Sam had done something, that Sam had gone and made some idiotic mistake that it hadn't been gentle. It had been more of an accusation.

He'd died for Sam. He just didn't want Sam to waste it, that was all. He didn't want to see Sam throw his life away.

But compassion? Maybe not so much. At least, not at first. Not until Sam broke down on him.

It was just so hard. When all he could think about was Hell and his time there. And how stupid Sam was for lying. And to hear his brother thrash him like that? Weak? Boo-hoo?

Dean didn't deserve to be saved. Castiel had saved him anyway. Dean wasn't sure why yet, and he wasn't sure he would be thrilled to find out, but he had another chance. That meant something. Knowing that made all the difference in the world.

Sam had never responded to hard line stances. He'd never done well with orders or aggressions. Their dad's penchant for it had pushed Sam to Stanford.

Dean still wanted to help Sam. He wanted to save him, he _did_.

So, compassion. Realizing that Sam's lies and sins--well, they were bad, but maybe, just maybe, they didn't tell the whole story.

Hell, if Dean could have a second shot, maybe Sam could, too.

But he had been pulled out of Hell by an angel. If Sam didn't have an angel to do the job, then what did the kid have looking over his shoulder?

Dean sighed. Himself. All that left was himself. He'd been taking care of Sam his entire life. Maybe, in the last six months, he hadn't done such a bang-up job after all.

Still, if Sam was using his powers. If he was hanging out with Ruby again--then Sam needed to stop. _Now. _Dean might understand the mistake once, maybe twice. But now? After everything? It was too dangerous. And how would he help Sam if he didn't want to help himself?

How could he even look at Sam the same? Knowing Sam had given into the powers that the Yellow Eyed Demon had cursed him with?

_It is not the healthy who need a doctor_.

Dean grimaced. Sam needed a whole lot more than a doctor.

First things first, though: he had to get Sam off the floor. Once he managed to lug his bigger, taller brother onto a bed, then maybe he could worry about saving Sam's soul.

Sam was heavy, his body awkward and limp, which was eerily familiar to Dean.

With a grunt, he dumped Sam's body onto the bed and sat back on his own, sighing. Not familiar. Not at all.

Because this was a motel room. Hokey and cheap as hell, but not some backwater cabin in South Dakota. And Sam's body was whole, down to the bloodied soles of his bare feet, which, Dean could already see, were healed.

And Sam's color was rich and vibrant. He could still feel the heat of Sam's skin.

This was totally different.

Sam had been _dead_.

So long ago, that sometimes it seemed like a different life. Sometimes, like most things before Hell, he forgot about it. It seemed to pale, to be less important.

But _that_ wasn't less important. _That_ was the whole point. _That_ was why they were here.

Wasn't it? Why Dean made the deal? Why he'd gone to Hell? Why he'd been pulled out with this so-called work to do?

Why Sam was _lying_ to him--why Cas was whisking his kid brother off and bringing him back with ambiguous suggestions to have compassion?

It _was _related. There was no question, really, about when any of this began. Dean went to a crossroads and sold his soul, and sold his brother out, too, in the process.

He cursed under his breath, dropping his head and running a hand through his hair.

Sam's actions weren't so mysterious. After all, Dean had planned on lying to Sam about everything. He'd never intended to tell Sam about the deal. It had been a naive hope, and Sam had seen through it, just like Dean could see through every lie that Sam tried to throw at him.

He'd demanded compassion from Sam then.

Maybe he owed it to Sam now.

But compassion only went so far. It didn't change the fact that Sam needed to come clean about things. Now. Dean would give him a chance, offer the olive branch, but if Sam didn't take it, then that wasn't Dean's fault.

With a sigh, he stood up, moving his brother slightly, trying to get the long limbs in some kind of comfortable position. If Sam was out too long, of course, he'd have to figure out how to make him drink, at least, and he'd have to roll the kid from side to side.

Because that was his job. It still came back to that. Save Sam. _Save him_.

He had to focus on that, because the second part still held true. _Save him or kill him_.

And pissed as he was, he wasn't ready to kill Sam. Yet.

He hoped he never was.

With another sigh, he went to the bathroom to wet a wash cloth and begin cleaning the blood from his little brother's feet.

-o-

It was time to wake up.

He wasn't sure why he knew that, but it was the only thing he was certain of. He'd been sleeping too long, forever maybe, and it was safe sleep, needed sleep, but he couldn't do it any longer. It was like waking up for his 7:30 Rhetoric class freshman year. Or being rolled out of bed by his father the day of a move to a new town. Necessary evils.

It came gently, though, this awareness. Like fluttering leaves on an autumn day, a hazy and wayward descent, wafted where the wind may take it, but still leading to the inevitable conclusion of _down_.

And Sam opened his eyes.

He was in the motel room. It was just like he remembered. Stiff mattress, bad nautical-theme decorations. Dean was lounging on the next bed, remote on his chest, lazily picking through a bag of M&M's.

Normal. Very normal. So, why did it feel so...off?

He blinked, trying to gauge what was really going on. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he'd had a dream. Maybe he was forgetting something, something...important...

Dean cast a nonchalant glance his way, then did a spit-take worthy of a Doublemint Gum commercial. "Sam," he said, sitting up abruptly and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "You're awake."

There was surprise to that. Like Dean hadn't expected it.

Which didn't make sense. And why was it sunny out? "What happened?" Sam asked, and his voice felt weak, his throat dry. He furrowed his brow and tried to sit, but a wave of vertigo kept him unduly flat.

"Just...take it easy," Dean said, and he was reaching for something. A moment later, he produced a bottle of water and held it out to Sam. "You've been out of it for a while."

Sam pushed himself up again slower this time, Dean helping with an arm behind his back. He leaned heavily against the headboard, before taking the water bottle. "A while?"

Dean smirked. "Apparently being touched by an angel is harder for you than it was for me."

"What?" Sam asked, because that didn't make sense. An angel? Touched? What was going on?

Dean's smirk faded and he licked his lips. "So, uh," he said. "What do you remember?"

Sam fingered the water bottle and tried to think. There was sleeping and his bed and...the doughnuts. Dean had eaten three doughnuts. "Breakfast," he said. "You had breakfast."

Dean's face darkened with what looked like chagrin. "Figures that would be what you remember."

"Dean, what happened?"

With a sigh, Dean sat back on his bed. "Cas said this might happen."

"Cas?"

"Apparently Cas took you for a little ride," Dean said. "Literally."

Sam just stared.

Dean made a face and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Cas wanted to ask you some questions about Ruby and Lilith. Location and stuff."

Sam searched his memory, looking for a clue, for something. It was blank, clear and empty, with only the vaguest sensation of pain. "That still doesn't explain what happened."

Dean sighed again. "Uriel seems to kind of suck at interrogation."

"Interrogation?"

Chewing his lip, Dean looked uncertain and tentative. "Cas didn't want your ass to get smote, so he jumped inside of you to protect you."

It was said so plainly, thrown out there like it was so normal, that for a second, it didn't register. That he'd been _interrogated_ by _angels_. And then _possessed_?

The interrogation was hard enough to swallow. The fact that he'd been deemed enough of a threat to take against his will. He'd known on some level the angels would never see him as an ally, Uriel had made that clear enough, but the feeling of being their _enemy_--it hurt more than Sam had anticipated.

He felt light headed and dizzy, his stomach churning hollowly for a moment. The world sort of dimmed, and he became vaguely aware that Dean was steadying him, keeping him upright.

Sam blinked, trying to bring his focus back. An interrogation by the angels. It was too out there to be a lie. It had to be true. Sam knew it was.

And, what did they learn? What had Sam said? Did they know about what he and Ruby were planning? What they were _doing_? Sam didn't want anyone to know that, not Dean, not the angels, not _anyone_. He had to do it; it was the only way to save Dean. All the lies, all the deception--he didn't know another way to make it end.

He'd been damned all along. So why did hearing it keep hurting? The interrogation, if he were honest, was no less than he deserved. He'd just been hoping to fly under the radar long enough to finish this thing before the angels took care of him once and for all.

Which they could have done. They had every chance. So, why was he still here? "Cas possessed me?" he asked, his mind reeling to comprehend.

"Showed up wearing you like a cheap suit."

The interrogation, he got. Hell, he would understand waking up in the great beyond, readying for his eternity of torment.

But why had Castiel possessed him? Why save his life? "Why?"

Dean sat up straight, shrugging. He fidgeted, looking at his hands. "Maybe he didn't think you deserved to die." The statement was soft, but sincere.

But Sam did deserve to die. No one knew it better than he did himself. For the things he'd done, the compromises he'd made. The blood alone.

Dean was looking at him, cautious and thoughtful. "Cas didn't say what kind of information you might know," he said. "I know you're lying to me. You've been lying for weeks now. Don't you think it's about time you came clean?"

Sam's eyes flashed at him, and, for a horrifying second, he thought Dean knew.

"What are you doing with Ruby? Why is Uriel itching to wipe you off the face of the planet?"

The question hurt. Not that Dean asked it, but because of the inevitability of its answer. Because he had demon blood and nothing changed that. His evil was innate to him and his soul had been tarnished all along.

More than that, the places he was headed, _his destiny_, was so far removed from Dean's that Sam feared it was only a matter of time before their paths diverged irrevocably. Dean was chosen by _angels_, and it didn't matter that they were sure what their intentions were, it didn't matter if the angels weren't what Sam had expected, it was about redemption. A redemption Dean had earned for his inherent goodness.

A redemption that Sam had been craving all his life and would never get.

"Sam, come on," Dean said, and there was a hint of pleading in his voice, maybe something more.

It was the first time Dean had asked. He'd demanded and accused and played little games with Sam's mind. He'd sulked and used Sam's words against him and Sam hadn't had the heart to be more than vaguely annoyed about it all.

But asked--Dean hadn't asked. Not until now.

Maybe Dean deserved to know.

Maybe Dean didn't.

Maybe Sam was a selfish bastard.

"I'm tired of it, Sam," Dean said, and the words just sounded defeated and weary, not accusing or angry. "I'm tired of wondering if you're going to go ultra-freak on me without any warning, if one day I'm going to wake up and just find you _gone, _of trying to figure out if you _really _believe I'm holding you back."

"Dean, I told you, with the siren--"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that you didn't mean it," he said. "So, tell me, why are you still sneaking around with Ruby? Why are _angels _trying to pump you for information? If Cas wasn't so damn sympathetic, you'd be nothing more than dust right now. Don't you see? They didn't kill you. So this isn't too far gone yet. Will you finally just _talk to me_?"

It was righteous anger, Sam recognized. And hard to resist--not just the guilt, but the _wanting_ to tell him. Wanting Dean to be able to share his burden, to make it easier. To make them brothers again. But he and Dean were meant for different things. He didn't want to make Dean complicit, not in this.

It was one of those moments, which were more common than Sam would have admitted, when Sam thought Dean should have left him for dead in Cold Oak and spared them all this grief.

He braced himself. "I told you about tracking Lilith."

"Yeah, so why do I get the sense that that's not the whole story?" The tone of accusation was back, sneaking in with a healthy dose of exasperation.

He didn't blame Dean. He couldn't blame Dean.

He just couldn't tell Dean, either. The hatred of angels he could tolerate. The ire of demons he could almost enjoy. But he wasn't ready for Dean to see him for who he was.

Dean exhaled, loud, and he stood, shaking his head. "I don't know how to do this," he said. "What did I do to you to deserve this? I've only wanted to keep you _safe_, and this is how you treat me?"

It was why he couldn't be mad at Dean, no matter what his subconscious tried to tell him. It was why he could forgive the punches, forgive the digs against him, forgive _anything_. His brother had loved him once. Sam didn't deserve to be loved now, so what was one more lie? One more omission? One more sin?

But he missed it. He missed Dean's gentle joking and he missed his brother's cautious prodding. He missed knowing that there was nothing he could do to turn Dean against him.

But Dean had said it himself. The Sam that Dean had known, the Sam he had died for, was gone. It was just a matter of time before they stopped living in denial and accepted it.

Dean was looking at him, eyes narrowed. "How the hell will you ever get past this crap if you don't admit to it? Do you want to get wiped out? I mean, is that part of your grand master plan that you plot with your little demonic friend?"

"You wouldn't understand," Sam answered, because it was easier than telling Dean how right he was. Sam didn't see himself surviving the endgame--he wouldn't be doing this when he was old, because Sam figured he wouldn't even be alive that long. And he already knew where his tainted soul was bound. He would _not _drag Dean down with him.

His brother's face puckered. "Whatever," he said. "At least I tried. I'm going to go grab lunch. We leave by tonight."

Dean was out the door before Sam had a chance to think of anything to stop him.

He sighed, looking down at himself. His body felt weird--different. Newer. Renewed, maybe. It vaguely tingled, a soft buzz, and Sam wondered what it meant.

What any of it meant. Why Dean had been allowed to die, just to be brought back. Why every choice Sam made brought him one step closer to Hell. Why an angel of the Lord would ever save _his_ life.

Dean was worth it. Sam never was.

Castiel's violation wasn't as severe as Meg's had been, but the aftermath hurt just the same. Maybe worse. Because feeling _alive_, feeling _good_, made it harder to remember that he was already screwed.

Sinking back down, he stared at the ceiling and wished he could close his eyes and make it all go away.

-o-

It was mere seconds, maybe less, though the passage of time was a strange thing to him. Surreal more than concrete, meaningful yet not. It was one of the hardest parts of life among mortals. Knowing how long things would take, understanding the importance of capturing a moment. He was used to infinite spaces and unending possibility. Earth was so limiting in that regard.

So precious.

There was no hesitation coming back, no soft approach or gentle coaching. This body was knowing, not aware but willing.

It was still a jolt, however, a coming to being and a loss of essence all at once. Fitting into a mortal form was as empowering as it was limiting, but Castiel knew there was no other way.

He settled in, filling in the familiar grooves.

He opened his eyes.

He was back in the cabin where they had taken Sam. He was on the floor, sprawled where he'd left the body in the first place.

"Took you long enough." Uriel's deep voice penetrated his awareness.

Sitting up, he saw the other angel sitting on a chair, head bowed and eyes closed. Standing, Castiel rolled this head on the neck and tried to feel at home again. "Has He answered?" he asked.

Uriel huffed a laugh and did not open his eyes. "You say that like He hasn't already given us His command."

"Should a soldier not hear from his general?"

Uriel opened his eyes, turning his head with a pointed stare. "You forget, then," he said. "That prayer does not change God."

"But changes him who prays," Castiel finished. "You mock them and loathe them, yet you quote them still?"

Uriel shrugged. "That revelation is not from man," he said. "Some are just provided with enough grace to make such revelations. Acts of greatness matter."

"Yet you will show them none?"

"Grace is not mine to offer," Uriel replied. "My purpose is to win the war. As is yours. Or have you forgotten that, as well?"

Castiel drew his lips together. "I have not."

"So, these flights of fancy you have with these humans," Uriel said. "Are part of our orders?"

"Our orders are not to judge," Castiel said. "Them or each other."

"No, but our orders are to exact judgment," Uriel pointed out. "Why did you save Sam Winchester?"

"He did not need to die."

"He did not deserve to live."

"Killing him would not help our cause."

"He wouldn't talk," Uriel said. Then he paused, cocked his head. "But you know, don't you? You were in his head. You know his secrets better than he does."

"That was not why I possessed him."

"But it is a nice side effect," Uriel prodded.

"His secrets are of no use to us."

"Perhaps we should discuss them together. He knows where the demon called Ruby is, doesn't he? Maybe a lead on Lilith?"

"It is not our knowledge to use."

"Have you forgotten this is a _war_?" Uriel exclaimed. "Have you forgotten how many of our brothers have died for this fight? Will die because you protect a meager _human_? A tainted one at that?"

"This war is about these humans," Castiel said. "And mankind has been tainted since the First Fall and yet God still lines the streets of Heaven with the sinners you might be so quick to smite."

Uriel looked vaguely amused. "We are not made for compassion," he said.

Castiel felt the flow of blood beneath this skin, the beating of this heart. The throb of _life_, of _being_. "Perhaps we should be."

Raising his eyebrows, Uriel leaned back. "You question your Maker?"

Castiel swallowed and tried to calm his mind, tried to erase the feelings of emptiness and despair that so defined Sam Winchester. A man who had fought for so much to fall so hard--it was impossible to see such injustice and not question. Hard to see Dean Winchester break in Hell. Hard to see two brothers who loved each other be forced at such odds by the cruelties of a fate they could have never predicted. "No," he said, but his voice sounded hoarse and something ached deep within him.

"So, you're not going to tell me?"

"There is nothing to tell," Castiel replied.

Uriel eyed him, cold and calculating. "Lying is close to insubordination," he said. "A punishable offense."

Castiel did not back down. Could not back down. Not for Sam Winchester. Not for Dean Winchester. Not for the world of people who deserved second chances. Because if Uriel knew, if Sam Winchester's secrets were exposed, Castiel would not be able to save him. Sam needed time, Dean needed time to reach him, and this was the least Castiel could offer. "

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength," Castiel said. "And you shall love your neighbor as yourself."

"You liken us to _them_?"

Castiel's gaze did not waver. "Well," he said, and he thought of this host and this body. He thought of Dean's face when he was pulled from Hell. He thought of Sam's fear while Castiel resided in his body. "We could certainly do worse."

_end_


End file.
